Singing Thunder
by Rennertastic
Summary: Enter Eiswulf Stormsong, the Dragonborn, as he and his companions discover pieces of the Aldmeri Dominion's plan to unravel Mundus, and begin to wage their own war on the Thalmor.


Oh wow. I haven't written fanfiction for Talos knows how long, so if this sucks, bear with me. Now let us begin an adventure in which the rest of Skyrim will be invariably plunged into. Oh, and SPOILERS ABOUND. SPOILERS EVERYWHERE. THEY'RE COMING OUT THROUGH THE WALLS. Just thought I'd let you know, because I'm nice like that.

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><p><strong>Singing Thunder<strong>

"_What is better - to be born good, or to overcome your evil nature through great effort?"  
><em>_~ Paarthurnax, Leader of the Greybeards_

**Prologue**

The Haafingar air was thick with snow and cold, the winds whipping lazily about like agitated spirits. Up the craggy mountainside, the Thalmor Embassy stood black against the shimmering evening sky with all its colors. The complex itself was neither particularly tall nor large, and admittedly rather sparse – but it radiated power, strength, and pride.

_And perhaps the slightest slivers of malevolence, _First Lord Magister Araniul thought idly to himself. It was a symbol, he supposed. A milestone. The Dominion had now influence in the far northern reaches of Tamriel, in a land filled with rugged peoples that had fought for millennia to keep elvenkind out. A land of savages clinging to their Lorkhanic mantle of a god.

The trip from Alinor to Skyrim had been uncomfortable for most part, but Araniul was not complaining. He had chosen speed over comfort in the means of transportation – a quick ship that had taken him from Firsthold to Anvil, then a carriage to the Imperial City to check in briefly with Second Lord Justiciar Runaril. The situation in Cyrodiil was, for most part, under control. The situation in Skyrim, however … well, that what the Second Supreme had wanted Araniul to monitor personally. While First Emissary Elenwen was competent and played her part well enough, her control over situation – from monitoring the progress of the civil war to providing indirect aid to the Stormcloaks, amongst other things - was tenuous at best. She was cooped up in the Embassy, and Araniul was more flexible, and more experienced in certain arts that would prove useful.

Many more carriages had been taken from the Imperial City to Skyrim, from Falkreath to Markarth, and finally, the Embassy.

_And here we are now, _Araniul thought as the Imperial carriage driver approached the Embassy gates. Thalmor soldiers prowled the low stone walls, sentries in robes and sets of Elven-made armor. Pawns in a grand plan they were ignorant of.

"Stop here," the Altmer commanded as the carriage drew closer to the Embassy, and the driver instantly obeyed with a sycophantic drawl of, "Of course, my lord."

His back was stiff and buttocks rather sore as he got out of the carriage, but it had been a fast trip. Araniul passed a few gold coins to the carriage driver as a tip, and then made his way to the Embassy gates, trudging through the thick snow.

"First Lord Magister," Elenwen greeted from behind the gates as he approached. A soldier unlocked the front gates and she stepped forward to meet him. "The Second Supreme sent me a message a month prior to inform me of your arrival. Please, follow me inside and we can talk."

"Of course, Emissary," was his curt reply, and Elenwen nodded to that and moved to cross the snow-laden courtyard, Araniul behind her. He passed one of the soldiers who had given a brusque head bow at the sight of him – almost alien and absurd to see one of the Altmer bow even his head, but not so much to Araniul. He had been with the Thalmor from before their rise to power. Aracelano had sent his agents to invite Araniul into the fledgling group some three hundred years or so ago, and he had contributed much to the Thalmor, hence why Aracelano had granted him the title and position of First Lord Magister of the Aldmeri Dominion after their political conquest of Summerset Isle, back when Alinor was still known under that name. He was one of the higher ranking members of the Dominion, one of the leadership.

The Embassy interior was warm, almost welcoming – yet Araniul could feel the dark undertones of this place. The plotting and planning and secretly spilt blood and death was thick in the air.

He was led through the first building and out into a smaller courtyard in the middle of the complex, and finally they arrived within Elenwen's solar. Araniul sat on one of the plush couches, glancing at the two stoic-faced soldiers that guarded the doorway.

"Wine, my Lord Magister?" Elenwen asked as she strode over to a counter and grabbed a bottle of some vintage from Alinor.

"Yes please," Araniul replied absent-mindedly, taking out a few documents from his satchel. Dossiers, briefings, and the like. Nothing of major importance, just a few formalities.

Elenwen sat down opposite to him and poured two glasses of fine wine, handing one over to Araniul. He took the glass and sipped from it, the documents on his lap. With his free hand, he passed them over to Elenwen, and carefully watched her as she went through them. When she had finished, she turned her head to the soldiers and dismissed them with a casual gesture.

"So," the Emissary began when the doors had closed behind them, her eyes fixed on Araniul's weather-worn face. Elenwen's own face was unreadable for most part, expressionless. "The Second Supreme does not feel confident in my abilities to handle … this situation?"

"Oh no," Araniul reassured her, feeling almost a little smug. Almost. He took another sip of the wine. "If anything, the Second Supreme believes you are more than competent enough to fulfill your duties. After all, your contributions in the Great War …" He left that part unspoken, but gave her a knowing look as he drank more of the wine. Perhaps a bit too much wine. But part of him didn't care. In here, he was virtually invulnerable. And he was tired, though he tried not to show it on his face. Carriage rides did not agree with him – they never had. Such conventionally basic methods of travel they had to use when out of Alinor. "Officially, this is a formal meeting. A personal check-up on how things are doing here. Part of my required report-writing on the situations in Cyrodiil and Skyrim."

"And unofficially? If the Second Supreme wanted written reports, she would've sent someone more expendable. Less important. Not the First Lord Magister."

A rare, amused half-smile crossed Araniul's lips. "Yes, that is rather obvious." He shifted in his seat, sitting forward and placing the near-empty glass on the table. "The situation in Skyrim has indeed been handled well. To the best of your abilities, we'd imagine. But the plans we have … well, things are getting complicated. And the First Supreme cannot stand for any chance of failure. So he and the Second Supreme sent me here."

"And exactly what are these plans, Lord Magister?" Elenwen inquired coolly. Her own glass of wine had barely been touched.

Araniul's amused half-smile grew wider, with the barest hints of malice in it. "I'll just have to show you, eh?" he said, almost chuckling. He stood then, and walked a few steps. "Come, Emissary. Let's go to those recently-emptied torture chambers I know you have. We'll need a bit of privacy if we are to … _share_ these plans."


End file.
